


Warrior's Breakfast

by Sk8er_Chica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hungry Dean, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Pre-Series, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk8er_Chica/pseuds/Sk8er_Chica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester is far from Father of the Year, dragging his kids from state to state and leaving them to fend for themselves with barely any food. Dean always sucks it up, looks out for Sammy, and forgives him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warrior's Breakfast

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!  
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January 1992

Most boys who were 12-going-on-13 never gave a thought to the idea of an astrological star chart predicting their future. Dean Winchester personally thought the idea was ridiculous, but when you were stuck in a by-the-week motel room with limited channels, entertainment became any port in a storm. He glanced sideways at the next bed to make sure his little brother was still asleep. Since finding out that their dad wasn't really a traveling salesman, Sammy'd had more than a few nightmares. Fortunately, the kid looked peaceful...at least for now.

After checking them into the room, Dad had taken Dean aside to let him know there was a witch problem in a nearby town. He'd left money and made the usual promise to be back in a few days. That had been almost a week and a half ago and they hadn't heard from him since.

"Dammit, Dad," Dean said to no one in particular.

This was far from a record absence for John, but Sam was starting to worry that a monster had finally gotten their dad. Dean knew their supplies were getting even tighter than usual and had been doing his best to make sure his little brother was as well-fed as possible. Complicating matters was the fact that Dean was in the throes of a growth spurt; what he'd allowed himself the last few days hadn't come close to satisfying his newly-increased appetite. His head was starting to feel heavy and he hoped going to sleep for a while might help him feel better.

Dean's eyes snapped open when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was, given that the bedside alarm clock was permanently stuck on midnight, but figured it had to be pretty damn late. John entered the room, limping slightly and sporting a fat lip. Despite his haggard appearance, John managed to grin as he muttered, "Ding-dong, the witch is dead." Dean smiled back. John went into the bathroom just long enough to splash cold water on his face and pop an aspirin, emerging with his shaving kit in hand.

"We leaving?" asked Dean.

"Yep," John answered shortly. "Only a matter of time before somebody finds that body."

Dean got out of bed, walked over to Sam, and gently shook his shoulder.

"Wha's goin' on?" Sam muttered into his pillow.

"Dad's back. We gotta go."

"But I'm tired," Sam protested.

"You just gotta wake up for, like, 5 minutes and then you can lie down in the car. Right, Dad?"

John nodded. Sam reluctantly threw back the covers. He gathered up his schoolbooks and the few toys he had, while Dean shoved their dirty clothes into a motel laundry bag. Dean didn't bother grabbing his textbooks, knowing there'd be different ones at the next middle school. John carefully removed the gun from under his oldest son's pillow and tucked it into his own belt.

"It's sleeting," John informed them as he took the bags to the car.

The brothers pulled on their warmest jackets. Before leaving the room, Dean made sure that the amulet Sammy had given him for Christmas was still securely around his neck. Once outside, Sam found a blanket waiting for him on the Impala's backseat; he promptly curled up under it while Dean joined their dad on the front bench. John started up the car and pulled away.

"Any problems while I was gone?" he asked Dean.

"No, sir."

"Good."

"Where are we going now?" asked Dean.

"I don't have another job lined up, so I figured we can all spend some time with Uncle Bobby."

Actually, Bobby had more or less ordered John to take some R&R when he realized how close to Dean's birthday it was, saying he deserved a cake and family time "like any other snot-nosed kid." Bobby knew Dean liked staying there; John would show him a few basics about cars on the junkers and sometimes the four of them played touch football, kids vs. grownups.

"Maybe I'll teach you how to do an oil change," John told Dean. "This car's gonna be yours someday and you gotta know how to treat her right."

"I know, Dad." Dean looked over the back of his seat. "Man, Sammy's out already," he remarked.

John wasn't surprised. Car rides always had a sleepy-time effect on his youngest son. John hated driving without music, so he put the radio on the lowest volume possible and was greeted by the spooky organs backing The Animals' "House of the Rising Sun."

"Thanks for holding down the fort for me," John said. "I really do hate leaving you boys, but you know I have to work." He chose his words carefully in case Sam was still semi-conscious, not knowing that Dean had told Sam all about John being a hunter.

Dean thought about mentioning that he was hungry, but knew there was a chance he might get a lecture about rationing more carefully. Besides, it wasn't like he'd actually starve to death before John pulled over somewhere. He slid down a little in his seat and stuck his legs straight out in front of him, arms folded across his body. John was about to reprimand his son for sulking when he realized it was more likely that Dean was just making himself comfortable so he could sleep in the car.

John tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. "Did I ever tell you about my last day of boot camp?"

Dean shook his head, not knowing much other than that John had been a Marine.

"We'd just finished running an obstacle course for almost 3 days straight," John started. "Then the drill instructors rounded us all up and took us to the mess hall, of all places. Our meanest drill instructor told us there's an old Corps tradition called the warrior's breakfast, which I figured meant we'd be playing waiter all morning. We all thought it was a trick when he told us to grab a tray and take whatever we wanted, as much as we wanted. They had bacon, waffles, doughnuts, pretty much anything, and there was a huge cake."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw his eldest wince. He was about to write it off as another bout of growing pains when he heard a loud grumbling sound.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Was that your stomach?" John asked. Getting the slightest nod in return, John had another question. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Dean thought about stretching the truth, but Sam was asleep and lying to Dad was never a good plan. "Yesterday, maybe the day before," he admitted. "We were running low on money and I had to take care of Sammy."

Suddenly, John felt like the worst father in the world. It should never have come to the kids deciding who got food and who didn't (though he figured Sam had little, if any, say in the matter). He was honestly surprised that Mary's ghost hadn't decided to pay him a visit and express her displeasure that their sons weren't being properly provided for. He let out a heavy, guilty sigh.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," he said at last.

Dean shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"Yes, it is," John's tone was a little sharper. "It's my responsibility to take care of you and Sammy and I let you guys down. I shouldn't have been gone so long."

"But I made sure Sam got dinner," Dean reminded him.

How could John explain to a 12-year-old how messed up it was to have that kind of weight on his shoulders? Dean should be playing Little League and not have any worries bigger than the next game or going to his first school dance.

"You're still part of this family," John said. "And that means you gotta take care of yourself. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, sir."

John slowed down and started scanning the roadside. Wendy's…closed. Long John Silver's…closed. Burger King…closed. Just typical for Kentucky to roll up the sidewalks after 9:00 PM. Further down the road was a Gas 'n Sip. John decided to keep looking instead of just pulling over and feeding Dean chips and candy for dinner, something he'd admittedly done before when there were no other options. He turned left when he noticed a Denny's sign, knowing they'd still be open. Sam woke up when the car stopped in the parking lot.

"Dad?" he said sleepily. "What happened?"

"It's okay, Sammy," John reassured him. "I just stopped at Denny's. I need some coffee before I drive anymore and Dean's a little bit hungry."

Sam pushed the blanket off himself, leaving it wadded up on the backseat. The Winchesters trooped across the wet pavement into the restaurant lobby. It was Saturday, so the dining room was populated by tables of college-age kids in varying states of sobriety. The host looked enough like a zombie that John did a mental inventory of what exactly he had in the trunk arsenal. As usual, the boys sat together on one side of the booth with John on the other. Their young waitress doled out menus with a smile and had a kids' placemat with crayons for Sam. She endeared herself to John by not giving him the why-are-your-kids-still-up-this-late look.

"Can I get you some drinks?" she asked.

"Coffee, black," said John. "And whatever these two want. Sammy?"

"Milk, please," Sam mumbled, holding back a yawn.

"Me too," said Dean. He didn't really like milk, except that it was filling when he'd gone a while without eating.

Sam picked up a crayon and absentmindedly scribbled on his placemat. At almost 9 years old, he felt he was getting too old to play with these things, but he hadn't wanted to hurt the waitress's feelings by refusing to take it. John left his menu where it was. Dean opened his and found himself unable to make up his mind. Everything pictured looked delicious and the things that weren't pictured sounded even better. He chewed on his bottom lip.

"Anything you want," John told him. "You deserve your own warrior's breakfast."

Sam frowned slightly, wondering what that term meant. He'd have to ask Dean the next time they stopped somewhere.

"Are you boys ready to order?" The waitress had reappeared with their drinks.

"I think so," said John. He glanced at his youngest and prompted, "You want some breakfast too, Sammy?" Hell, it was 1 AM, so breakfast was the easiest thing to call it.

"I ate a lot at dinner," Sam said, making apologetic doe eyes at the waitress.

"Bring us a small plate of fries for him," said John, not wanting to look like he was feeding one kid and starving the other. "Just coffee for me."

"What about you, hon?" she asked of Dean.

Dean told her the first thing that came to mind: "A Pancake Grand Slam with bacon and scrambled eggs with toast."

The orders were written down, a promise of quick delivery made. John excused himself to the men's room. Once he was out of earshot, Sam had the opportunity to discuss a couple of things with his brother.

"I thought Dad said you were just a little hungry." His tone was suspicious.

"I'm a growing boy, Sammy," Dean answered easily.

"What happened to Dad's lip, anyway? Was it a monster?"

"A witch, but Dad fixed her ass."

"Witches are real too?"

"Like I told you at Christmas, almost everything is real." Dean picked up his glass and took a big gulp of milk. "Except E.T.'s made of rubber and Bigfoot's a hoax."

'So is Santa,' Sam added mentally.

John returned to the table, effectively stopping the conversation.

"You behave yourself for Dean while I was gone?" he asked sternly.

"Yes, sir."

John chuckled, something the boys rarely saw him do. "I was just teasing, Sammy. If you'd done something, I'd already know about it."

The waitress arrived with their food. Dean dove headfirst into his scrambled eggs, knowing they'd get cold first. Sam picked at his fries, sharing some of them with his brother. Dean coated the warm pancakes with butter, then drowned them in syrup; he couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted something this good. Sometime later, there was nothing left on Dean's plate except a puddle of syrup and some stray crumbs. John paid the check with one of his phony credit cards, shoving a few crumpled dollar bills under his coffee mug for the waitress. When they got back to the Impala, Sam wrapped himself up in the blanket.

"Feel better?" John asked Dean.

"Yeah, a lot."

Dean rested his head against the passenger window, his full stomach making him warm and sleepy. John checked the rearview mirror and saw that it looked like Sam was already asleep again.

"I've got this watch, son," John assured his eldest as they left the parking lot.

Tonight had given him insight into just how seriously Dean took his responsibility as surrogate parent. He'd sacrificed his own well-being to watch out for Sammy without batting an eye or complaining. John wondered guiltily how long this had been going on before he found out about it. Months? Or even worse, years? He scolded himself for continuing this selfish quest to avenge Mary's death, but he was too deep into hunting now to quit cold turkey. John promised himself to only go on 3 more hunts, buying the kids a warrior's breakfast after each one, and then he'd retire for good. The boys deserved better.

THE END


End file.
